Let's Get Dancey
by The Lovely Psyche
Summary: Welcome to New York Ballet Academy, where ballerinas claw their way up to be the best. But talent is only going to take a girl so far. With the competition heating up, it's time to put aside the fun, shove on those pointe shoes and now, LET'S GET DANCEY.
1. Prologue

**This technically _isn't_ an Alpha fanfic, BUT it's a spin-off to my Alpha Academy fanfic - The One. So you might recongized two characters from there - Annie Giordano (Summer's ex-BFF's new BFF) and Corona White (Alice's sister). So I just had an idea for this *me with that cartoon lightbulb over my head* so here is a brief intro! It might be updated quite slowly...but I have plans for this story! :) Um, enjoy! It's a _bit_ like AA, I guess...

* * *

**

**Let's Get Dancey

* * *

**

**Welcome to the world's biggest dance school – New York Ballet Academy. With students that feed directly into the academy's dance company, this school has is known for its rigorous ballet training as well as its sold-out ballet showcases. Thousands apply from all over the world, hundreds apply from a single city and only a few get in a year. Let's meet our newest students.

* * *

**

Meet **Annie Celeste Giordano.**

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

"_Excuse_ me? What did you just say?"

"That's nice. Now get out of my way"

She's glamorous, snobbish, impossibly perfect and makes girls shrink with a single pointed sneer. With her dark eyes that have the ability to dissolve a girl to tears and long glossy dark hair, this Italian beauty takes the spotlight at _every_ recital. She's got comebacks that make girls break down and a devious mind that plots her rise to the top. Yeah, she's gorgeous, but this girl is a MAJOR witch with a b. She's tricky, devious, sly, cunning and would make a girl flee sobbing without a single bat of her eyelash – or a single hint of shame. Yet with all that, the one trait (besides her popularity and looks) that keeps her friends with her is her loyalty. She might be meaner than the devil, but she's 100% loyal to her closest besties. With full pink lips coated with Lancome's Dreamsicle and perfectly polished nails in Essie's Russian Roulette, she's intimidating, confident and an aura of confidence just glows about her. Ruling the Upper East Side's most prestigious academy and dominating Manhattan's Dance School wasn't enough for her, she wanted New York Ballet Academy. And we all know that whatever Annie wants, Annie gets. She's got the best technique of all the girls in New York, the best turnout, the stunning musicality and the impeccable posture. She's got the looks, the money, the talent and the attitude that guaranteed to take her to the top. Her family's the richest in NY and her grandparents are practically royalty in Italy. So _what_ if she's new to NYBA? She's going to the top and no one's going to stop her. Straight from the lives of the elite socialites of the Upper East Side, this dancer going to take NYBA by storm.

* * *

Meet **Corona Elizabeth White.**

"Um. Hi!"

"So what goes on around here?"

"Just ignore her, she's not worth it"

Not only is she a new student, she's just transferred from the Paris School of Ballet. Nope, she's not a French prima donna, she's 100% English – but the British version. She's lost that adorable British accent since she's spent her entire life in France. She can speak French fluently like any other girl in Paris. She's got pitch-black hair that falls a few inches past her shoulders and wide marine-blue eyes that sparkled innocently. She might not be a blonde bombshell or yank the crowd's attention immediately, but once she steps into the routine, watch her steal the show. She's friendly, outgoing, kind and her first goal at the NYBA is making some true friends. She's real, down-to-earth and tries her best to be nice – even if she's shoved off to the side. Among a world of competitive ballerinas, Corona's trying hard to be her own person, without getting sucked into the petty dramas. She's been lonely her entire life, with a family scattered over the globe and sneering French ballerinas that hate her guts at her old school. She just transferred from the school in Paris and now she's ready to take on NYBA with full force. She doesn't have the best technique but she _does_ have the charm and ability to dance as gracefully as a swan. With graceful movements and light feathery steps, this girl floats through the routines like a bird gliding in the clear blue sky. From the prestigious academy of Paris Ballet, this dancer is ready to work her way up to the top.

* * *

Meet **Angel Giselle Carmichael.**

"Does it look like I care?"

"Don't mess with me and I won't mess with you"

"You think _I'm _a slut? Take a look in _your_ mirror"

With her long golden blond hair that Rapunzel can only dream of and sparkling cerulean blue eyes that sparkles like a blue sea on a sunny afternoon, this girl lives up to her name and looks like a modern day angel – just in camis and dance shorts. She's stunningly gorgeous and grabs the attention just by walking in a room – but rumors have floated around about Angel's past. She's not from a rich family, never trained professionally in dance and was never trained in pointe shoes. She's got a past that's looked down on by others, with her mother as an ex-stripper (currently a makeup artist and wardrobe manager) in Las Vegas, NV and a father that she's never met. Her best friends are nine years older than her and they're strippers who work at the same nightclub her mother does. Her turnout is horrid, her technique has ways to go but she's got the flexibility and energy that makes her shine. Her movements keep the audience on the edge of their seats and her style draws the attention of everyone. She learned from Ivy, the best dancer at the club and she can do cheerleading stunts like no other. She's single-minded, determined, fierce and won't let anything stop her from becoming the best. With a firecracker attitude that blazes and a sharp tongue, she's immediately part of the big social scene at NYBA. She clashes hard with the girls who have held the spotlight for years yet she's determined to do anything to win her place in the company. She's sweet and charming to all adults, sliding under the scrutinizing gaze of the headmistress with her angelic smile and looks. She lives up to her name, looking like a perfect angel in her teacher's eyes. Straight from the nightclubs of Vegas, this dancer is ready to glide in to steal the show.

* * *

**Here at NYBA, ages don't matter – talent does. There's over a hundred girls at the school, but at the end of the year, only four girls are chosen to take their places in the company. Who will they be? Nothing is for sure, except for one thing. This academy is definitely heating up with competition. Now, it's time to get dancey.

* * *

**

**Hmmm, I might need more characters to work with (like supporting/minor characters) so if you have some suggestions, PM them over. Or stick them in a review.

* * *

**

**I don't have a beta, so all the mistakes are mine.**

**-The Lovely Psyche**


	2. Ch 1: Top of the World

**Let's start this off with a bang shall we? READ and REVIEW! MAJOR thanks to The Bloodiest Rose, Popular Wannabe, alicemaybrandonjones and LuvLife113 for reviewing the intro! HUGS! **

* * *

**Ch 1: TOP OF THE WORLD**

* * *

**I'm ready for the pressure,**

**The drama and the pleasure,**

**Got my whole life here in front of me,**

** I'm taking over when I hit the streets.**

* * *

"Ah-five, ah-six, ah-five, six, sev-uh, eight!" the heavily accented voice of the Russian ballerina instructor counted out as three girls in black leotards, pink tights and pointe shoes stepped forward and into a short combo across the dance floor of the Manhattan Dance Center. The Nutcracker's music floated out of the giant black boombox in the corner of the dance studio as the girls pirouetted, jetéd and twirled to the music.

Morning sunlight streamed through the skylights in the ceiling as the girls danced. It was seven am in the morning and earlier than the usual auditions. It was a bright Wednesday morning usually, the girls would have been prepping themselves for school – but this was the NYBA auditions. To see if a girl could make it into the biggest dance school in the world. New York Ballet Academy.

In the corner of the room, one woman and one man watched the girls with scrutinizing eyes. The woman was taking down notes on her white clipboard as her beady eyes followed every single movement of each girl. The man leaned forward in his seat with his chin in his hand as he watched the girls spin.

"Number 24's arabesque is satisfactory," he muttered as he leaned forward into the woman's ear.

"Look at number 19," the woman answered, with her eyes fixed on the girl in question.

With their hair up in perfectly tight buns, bodies wrapped in the classic black leo and legs encased in the standard pink tights, the girls all looked similar – except for a square piece of paper pinned to their stomachs. Each girl had a number printed on their paper in solid black font.

The man and woman turned their gazes towards number 19, a brunette with big dark eyes, an aristocratic nose, a lifted chin and a look of sheer determination on her face. She was pretty, that much was obvious, but the woman could hardly care what the girl's face looked like. Her body was toned and slim like many others but the tell-tale lean muscles on her arms were evidence that the girl had been training professionally for years.

"Her turnout is nearly perfect," murmured the man as his ice-blue eyes followed the girl as she pushed off the wooden floor and spun into a triple pirouette without breaking a sweat. She slid gracefully to a stop, lifted up into an arabesque before lowering her torso towards the ground until her leg was up in the air, forming a perfect 180 degree line while her arms remained at her side.

"Extraordinary flexibility and control," the woman agreed. "Perfect musicality and rhythm, too."

"A bit more emotion in her moves, though," the man commented.

"Agreed," the woman replied.

They watched the girl for the rest of the class as she took over the spotlight. Scanning the room briefly for any other potential dancers, the pair found none. They turned their attention back to number 19 as she waited patiently in a textbook perfect fifth position for her turn in another combo. Their decision was made. Number 19.

Annie Giordano suppressed her triumphant smirk as she walked out of the dance room. The two people in the corner, a man and woman would have made their decisions and a list of dancers – or just one dancer – would be posted in approximately five minutes. Stripping off in the girls' changing rooms, she changed out of her ballet attire into her school uniform. It might be the morning of her NYBA audition but her father would murder her if she missed a single day of school. After all, she had to keep up her "perfect student" reputation

She had taken off her pointe shoes earlier to reveal her red blistering toes and had changed into her standard Manhattan Prep school uniform. She shimmied into her navy blue and white plaid skirt, crisp white button down, blazer and gray over-the-knee suede boots. She quickly tied her black and navy tie with expertise and hooked her new hoop earrings through her ears. Yanking the pins out of her hair, Annie tugged off the hair elastic and unwrapped the dark brown hair net to let her long dark brown hair tumbled down out of its confining bun. She flipped her head upside down, shook out her silky tresses and finger-fluffed it to give it some volume. Swiping on a layer of gloss, she made the transformation from a professional ballerina to the prim and polished Upper East Side socialite schoolgirl.

Speed-walking out the door of the changing room, she shoved her way through the crowd that had already formed over the list. She needed to know – no, confirm – that she _was _going to NYBA. Scanning the bulletin board crowded with flyers, schedules and news, she found a sheet titled NEW YORK BALLET ACADEMY.

Only one name was listed.

Annie Celeste Giordano.

_Yes!_

Resisting the urge to punch the urge and scream with delight like an immature little girl, she merely smirked in triumph before waltzing out the door of the studio and towards Manhattan Prep for her first period of AP World History. After all, she shouldn't malinger. She had places to go, things to do and people to meet. Annie Giordano was a very busy girl.

Making a quick stop at her penthouse on Fifth Avenue, she dumped her dance bag by the door and quickly grabbed her new black Prada messenger bag before leaving her room that was fit for a princess.

"Byee, Snowdrop," she sang out as she blew a quick kiss to her pure white little terrier who napped on the silken couch. He whined a soft "bye" as he looked up from his comfortable seat and went back to dozing lazily.

She danced through the tall Annie-sized glass vases filled with rare flowers in the hallways with her kitten-heeled boots clicking on the reflective marble floor and let herself out the heavy white and gold door. Stepping into the luxurious elevator, she pressed the G button with her red Russian Roulette painted nail. She smiled to herself as the elevator descended. She hailed a cab with a with snap of her fingers and let herself in.

Here on the Upper East Side, everyone knew who the Giordanos were – and everyone knew their only daughter – Annie Giordano. The best ballerina of the city, the prettiest girl at school, the perfect grades, the highest test scores and the picture-perfect socialite in the fancy parties thrown by her mother. With grandparents as the equivalent of Italian royalty back in Italy, her parents were literally bursting with wealth, and all of that was lavished on Annie. Her mother was Belladonna Massimo, the eldest daughter of Italy's wealthiest family – literally descended from royalty – while her father, was Angelo Giordano, the eldest son of the country's most renowned doctor. Their marriage was every socialite mother's dream and it was widely publicized, even when Annie was born.

And why wouldn't it be publicized? She was the first child of Belladonna Massimo and Angelo Giordano. She was literally of royal descent – and she played the part well. She was pretty, gracious, charming and held the title as the Queen Bee of Manhattan Prep as well as the prima ballerina of the city. Annie Giordano had the perfect exterior. The "perfect girl" of the city.

Stepping out the cab and tossing a few twentys over to the driver, Annie slung her bag over her shoulder and headed towards the steps that led straight to her new school, Manhattan Prep. She sway-strutted towards a group of girls who were currently sitting on the highest steps while looking down in disdain at the rest of the student population.

Currently, her little entourage was made up of the four prettiest, richest and snobbiest girls of the city. And she was the prettiest, richest and most snobby of them all. Cecilia, Megan, Isadora and Laurelle followed her every move, her every smile and every new outfit like robots.

"Heyyyy," Annie smile-waved at the girls as she moved up to her rightful place at the top step. Cecilia Marlow, her beta and best friend scooted down one step to sit on the right lower step besides her. Cecilia Marlow had been Annie's best friend since middle school, when Cecilia's traitor of a friend, Summer Williams, had snatched Cecilia's part in a school play as well as crush on the same boy as Cecilia. Annie personally thought that the Summer girl was nothing more than a girl with zero personality and a sweet voice. She had no idea what Cecilia ever saw in that girl. Thank god Miss Summer had moved off to Shira Brazille's Alpha Academy. Not that Annie cared much. She would have applied to Alpha Academy herself if her father hadn't considered the whole thing a scam.

"_Shira Brazille won't just take in 100 girls to make them the best. Shira always has an ulterior motive. Don't trust her, you're not going to that school."_

Her father had immediately distrusted Shira Brazille and forbid Annie from going while her mother had considered the "no contact" part of Alpha Academy ridiculous.

She was brought out of her thoughts and into the present with a question from Cecilia.

"How was your audition?" Cecilia asked flipping her pale blonde hair over her shoulder coyly as a hot lacrosse player swaggered by. She leaned in and smiled.

Cecilia was pretty, Annie would admit that. Just not as pretty as herself. Cecilia could act, sing and dance decently but Annie seriously doubted if Cecilia would work herself up to a professional level. Annie had lived and breathed ballet before she could walk and had sat in middle splits before she could crawl. Ballet was her life. Cecilia had never been that serious about anything, unlike Annie.

The other girls leaned in. Megan's green eyes widened eagerly, Laurelle looked at Annie with complete attention and Isadora's manicured fingers were poised over the keyboard of her newest iPhone, ready to shoot off the latest update on the elite socialite's lives – or more importantly, Annie's life. Being the Queen Bee of Manhattan Prep, her life was practically everyone's business. Her latest outfit were posted on blogs and websites, a new hairstyle would be copied the very next day and the news that their Queen Bee was moving to another school so early in the school year was MAJOR news. After all, who would take up her throne?

"I got in," Annie smirked with a flip of her hair. "Guess, I won't see you guys much this year,"

The school year at Manhattan Prep had already started but at New York Ballet Academy, there were no such thing as summer vacation. Girls trained at the academy nonstop and only had brief spring and fall breaks. In the winter, girls trained for their winter showcase and gala while in the spring, the top ballerinas were chosen to perform in the spring showcase. Annie would be moving into a dorm room the very next day at NYBA.

"Lucky," envy-sighed Laurelle. "I wish I was going with you."

Annie rolled her eyes on the inside. There was no way Laurelle would have even made it through the audition. Laurelle was just another dancer who dreamed big but never worked hard enough for it. But that wasn't Annie. Annie knew what was expected of her, she knew what she wanted and she was going to get it. There was no way she wouldn't.

Isadora frowned at that. "I heard that Karen wanted to go for your Queen Bee spot,"

"Like we'd _ever_ even look at her," sneered Cecilia with a contemptuous look. "She's not even an Elite, for gawd's sake!"

Here at Manhattan Prep, there was an unspoken ranking system among the students. The Elites – though not an official name – were a group of girls and boys who had class, money, looks and popularity all rolled into one perfect human being. They ruled the school with the utmost authority and Annie Giordano was the self-established alpha girl of the female Elites. Karen Wilcox, however, had would never become an Elite. There was a saying at Manhattan Prep – Once an Elite, always an Elite. You were born into the world of glamour, riches and popularity.

Annie narrowed her brown eyes at the thought of Karen taking over her spot. Karen Wilcox was a girl who had been vying for the Queen Bee spot since the beginning of time. She wasn't as rich as Annie, wasn't as pretty as Annie or Cecilia yet she continuously made outrageous acts to get herself some attention. She had ambition, Annie would give her that. Karen had literally done everything to boost her popularity. But if she wasn't there to keep the social order at Manhattan Prep, Karen might take a leaf out of the French people's book and start her very own revolution.

"Cecilia's right," said Annie finally. "Karen's always going be just what she is – a wannabe."

She thought about it. In the world, there were people who were naturally talented and people who were born losers. She would fit in the first one – but so would Cecilia. But then, there were always the people who worked for what they wanted, pushing their talents to the limits to become the top. And that was Annie. She had the talent, yet she worked herself twice as hard just because she did – and because she could. That was what separated her from Cecilia. Cecilia was naturally talented, yet she never worked for anything. Annie wasn't like that. She was determined to be the best at NYBA tomorrow. And she would. Because whatever Annie Giordano wanted, Annie Giordano got – and this time, she wanted the top spot at New York Ballet Academy.

* * *

**Glamor, glitter, gold,**

**Nothing is stopping you, nothing is stopping me,**

**In this frenzy out of control,**

**I'ma stay in pursuit, do what I gotta do.

* * *

**

Miles away from New York and Paris, a young teenage girl flipped her long golden-blonde hair as she spun around in a triple pirouette on nine-inch clear stilettos. She shook her butt in a new body-roll move she came up with and flicked her hair over her shoulder as she danced to the beat blasting in the background. She was tall and leggy, with slim hips, a tiny waist and a full chest. Her long hair was tawny golden that gleamed like spun-gold in the burning sun of Las Vegas.

"Give me those shoes!" another girl cried. Her fire-engine red hair was mussed and rumpled to give her perfect bed-hair and her eyes were covered with dramatic smoky makeup and her lips were smeared in red. She wore a rather revealing outfit. It was black, lacy and belonged in a strip club at vegas – which was exactly where she was. Her torso was squeezed into a ridiculously tight corset with a mini skirt that barely covered her butt.

"Not until you give me your eyeliner," the blonde teenage girl said playfully, skipping right out of the redhead's reach easily. She grabbed a chair from the dressing table and hooked a leg over it, leaning back with a taunting smile.

"Just give her f*cking eyeliner, Ivy," another girl sighed in slight exasperation as she flipped her silky curtain of midnight-black hair over her shoulder. She rotated herself a full 360 degrees in the three-way mirror of the strip club's dressing room as she checked out her new ensemble.

Angel Carmichael smirked slightly as she leaned back gracefully in the chair. She sat patiently in the dressing room of the strip club, Pulse, and had helped her two best friends – Ivy and Raine – dress for their first dance for the night. Angel was fourteen and completely underage while Ivy and Raine were both 23. The two older girls had started working at the club as strippers – or exotic dancers – the second they hit 21 and had been Angel's BFFs since day one. She twirled a strand of her golden-blonde hair around her pinky and watched Ivy and Raine bicker in amusement.

"Yeah, listen to Raine, she's the smart one," teased the Angel dancing just out of the redhead's – Ivy's – reach.

"Raine smart?" Ivy scoffed. "Those two words do _not_ belong together in a sentence Angel, dearie."

Raine, the girl with black hair, flipped Ivy off while prancing out the door. "C'mon Ives, Gina's going to yell if we're a second late for the opening dance,"

"Shoes," Ivy snapped her fingers together impatiently as she threw the eyeliner over to Angel.

"Did you just snap your fingers at me?" Angel asked incredulously. "I'm not a f*cking dog."

"Just give me the dang heels, Angel!" Ivy huffed. "You've got _way_ too much attitude for a teenager."

"And you're way too f*cking sensible and prissy for an adult," Angel tossed back as she threw the clear stilettos over to Ivy.

"Too sensible for an adult?" Ivy asked. "You do know that you're not really making sense, right?"

Angel shrugged it off. "Sneak me a Cosmo?"

Angel smiled angelically at Ivy. Living in the attic of a strip club sucked for Angel. She couldn't drink, she couldn't dance on the dance floor with other guests and she couldn't do _anything_. The most she could do was beg Ivy or Raine to sneak her a Cosmo under her mother's watchful eye. Her mother, Gina, was the manager of the dancers at the strip club and forbid Angel to hang out with them – lest she pick up their bad habits. Too bad Angel already cussed like a sailor and downed alcohol like water. She could blame Raine for both of those habits.

"If your mother finds out….." Ivy sighed.

"She'll never need to know," Angel said sweetly as she flounced out the door of the dressing room. Her frayed and worn denim booty shorts barely covered her butt and she wore a yellow crop top that showed a silver of her tan, flat and smooth belly. The majority of her clothes were birthday presents from the girls at the club. The hallways always reeked of cigarette smoke alcohol from the main club room. She had long gotten accustomed to the smell and always felt out of place at school, with its spick-and-span hallways and brightly lit rooms. While she laughed at the girls who dressed like skanks in an attempt to look "sexy", she sometimes wished that she would have a real friend, one that wouldn't say "Oh look at Angel, she's, like, a total slut and, like, she lives at a strip club!"

Her world was composed of drugs, alcohol, disco lights and thumping music that shook the entire building. Raine got drunk daily, cussed in a way that would put a sailor to shame and was the craziest, wildest and most shameless person Angel ever knew. Her mother often blamed Raine for Angel's rebellious attitude. While Angel never smoked, she had snuck a few drinks here and there under her mother's nose and drank tequila and Cosmos on a daily basis.

Yanking open a slightly hidden door, she climbed up the rickety staircase and up to the small attic of the strip club. While her home was the entire club, it was twelve at night, and the club was in full swing downstairs – a reason why she was forbidden to enter. She let herself into her small but cozy bedroom and threw herself on her purple bedspread. She picked up the letter from her desk and reread the entire thing again.

_Dear Ms. Angel Giselle Carmichael, _

_ We are delighted to say that you have been accepted to the New York Ballet Academy. A plane ticked is enclosed and we expect to see you on Monday, September 24._

_Sincerely,_

_Desiree Hayle_

_Headmistress _

It was short, brief and straight to the point. The paper was crinkled from all the times Angel had read and reread the letter. Tomorrow, she would be off to New York to dance in a ballet academy with hundreds of other ballerinas – except these would be rich, stuck-up and spoiled divas. Angel couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

She had first applied to NYBA on a slight whim, to see if she could actually get in. She hadn't really considered the odds of being accepted and the letter came as a strange surprise. She had danced a number that Ivy had choreographed. Mark, the tech guy, had set up the stage for her – removed the poles and let the stage do its work. Needless to say, her video audition looked way cooler and more professional than it really was. Angel wondered what Headmistress Hayle would think if she knew that it was taped in a stripped club.

But she had gotten accepted and would be off to NYBA the very next morning, saying goodbye to the sunny desert of Las Vegas and the glitzy casinos to a bustling city with a ballet academy filled with prim and proper divas. She wondered how that would work. She had never really fit in at school. It was a classic stereotypical school. She wasn't a girl who studied and got straight As, far from it. She was in danger of flunking her four core classes! She didn't fit into the jocks either, with zero love for volleyball or tennis. And the only thing she ever tried at school was the cheer team – and they hated her. She made it in, only because the captain grudging allowed her admission for "the good of the team". Yet, it didn't take long for the slut jokes, the snide comments and the cold glares to fester. Angel was sick and tired of it and immediately quit. She had no real friends at school and the second the bell rang, she was off to catch a cab towards home.

_Oh f*ck this!_

Angel slid off her bed, she was tired of thinking so hard about everything. She wanted to do _something_, dance, party, grind, whatever. She narrowed her eyes at her wardrobe and considered sneaking into the club. After all, she _did_ look a lot older….but she only looked about seventeen – which was hardly legal. She scowled at her closet and slight frustration. There was nothing she could do! Throwing caution to the winds, she pushed aside some racks of clothes in her closet and hunted out a slinky black sequined dress she had gotten from Raine on her fourteenth birthday. She tossed off her shorts and top and slid the dress over her head. Grabbing a pair of nine-inch heels that gave her the height requirement needed, she moved over to her dresser. She plugged in her new curling iron and turned to her makeup.

Applying a ridiculous amount of smoky eyeshadow, dark and bold black eyeliner and gluing on her false eyelashes that somehow managed to looked natural, Angel could had passed for an eighteen year-old. She slicked on some pink lipstick, glossed it over and eyed her reflection in the mirror. She grabbed her hot curling iron and set to work on creating wide, loose, wavy curls in her hair. She flipped her hair upside down, shook it all over and let it fall around her shoulders in a rumpled, tousled and wild mess. Balancing expertly in the precarious heels, she pranced out the door and headed towards the main dance floor. It would be dark in the club and no one would notice a young fourteen year-old girl slipping through the crowd.

"One cosmo, please?" Angel asked sweetly as she danced through the grinding bodies to the bar.

The woman narrowed her eyes at Angel. "Angel Giselle Carmichael, what would your mother say?" she shook her head in mock disappointment.

"She'd say, 'Give my daughter her drink or you'll be fired for approximately 48 hours,'" Angel answered with a cheeky grin.

She perched herself on one of the barstools and leaned on the counter, ignoring the other patrons while, Mayella – the bartender – shook her head before throwing together Angel's drink.

"You'll be the death of every girl at the club, Angie," Mayella sighed dramatically. Mayella was only a few years older than Ivy and Raine. Angel knew that Mayella hated to dance in front of a rather wild audience, which was the reason why Gina – Angel's mother – had assigned Mayella to the bar. "You'll be giving Raine and Brianna some competition in the looks department once you hit eighteen, darling. If you look like this now…." Mayella trailed off shaking her head.

Angel smiled. She knew that she was gorgeous, there was no doubt. She already attracted whistles from the boys at her school – and occasionally a brave or idiotic one would try to ask her out. She sipped her Cosmo lazily and flicked a glace towards the stage. She wrinkled her nose in slight disgust and the raucous hoots and catcalls. But despite the wild, craziness of her home and the shady backgrounds of the dancers, it was home. Tonight was her last night here, and Angel was going to make the best of it. Throwing back the last of her drink, she headed out on the dance floor. It was dark, the disco lights flashed and no one could tell that the gorgeous blonde was a mere fourteen year-old.

She shimmied, grinded and danced her way over to find two other girls in the crowd. Brianna and Nikki, they weren't onstage tonight and only raised their eyebrows at Angel as she bumped hips with them playfully.

Angel felt herself smile, the night was barely starting and she was going to party the night away. Screw age limits, tonight was her last and she was going to live it to the fullest before heading off to clash with prissy prima donnas. She threw her head back and laughed freely. Angel Carmichael always did things her way, screw the rules. Tonight was about fun, tomorrow she could jump into NYBA and steal the show away. NYBA wouldn't know what hit them.

* * *

**Gimme them bright lights, long nights, party 'til the sun is rising,**

**High rise, over time, working 'til the moon is shining,**

**Hot guys, fly girls, never thought that I'd say,**

**I feel on top of the world, I feel on top of the world, hey!

* * *

**

**Likey? Yes? No? So…we meet Miss Annie Giordano and Miss Angel Carmichael! They seem pretty darn similar…..but pretty darn opposites too! So we're missing Corona eh? Don't worry! She's in the next chappie! **

**Song that inspired this chapter: Top of the World by Pussycat Dolls**

**(I think I'm going to start titling these chapters now…..)**

**Leave me some reviews? Please? Cyber hugs and virtual cookies to all who REVIEW! **

**I don't have a beta so all the mistakes are mine :) **

**-The Lovely Psyche**


	3. Chapter 2

**Peeks head in. Whoa, she's alive! Yes, I'm back! So I took a giant extended holiday and whala! I'm back. If anyone is still interested in my stories...drop a review and let me know! **

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Cars, buses and taxi cabs roared by, expelling exhaust out of their pipes as they raced through the busy streets of New York City. Tourists and ordinary citizens of the city bustled through the sidewalks. Shoppers swung bags, students carried messenger bags and a group of young teenage boys jumped curbs with their newest skateboards. Pigeons flocked around and perched on buildings and sunlight gleamed off the windows of the tall buildings. Constant noise and chatter filled the city.

Corona White glanced around the city as she walked towards a stately building situated in the heart of the city. Her cab had dropped her off just a few seconds ago before speeding off to its next destination. She slung an overstuffed duffel over her shoulder and dragged an enormous suitcase with bag on it as she walked up towards the arc over the building spelling out NEW YORK BALLET ACADEMY in heavy black block font. Several buildings stood behind it.

She had studied the map layout of the ballet academy before arriving and had figured out some basic details. Since it was the biggest dance academy in the world – and the best – it was a boarding school. Four main buildings formed a square-shaped campus. One of them held all the dance studio rooms. Two of them were dorm rooms, housing the student population of the school. The other held a gym, a recreation room, the dining hall, several lounges, a indoor pool and a wing for the teachers. A wide courtyard with benches, winding paths and gardens stood in the center of all four buildings. She looked at the building that was in front of her. Unsure of where to go, she walked up towards the closest building.

Stepping through the glass doors of the building, she stared around the spacious lobby room. A waft of cool air greeted her as she entered. Looking around, she spotted a few girls chatting together in the lobby, a desk stood off to the side of the room with a lady scribbling away on paper. A bulletin board hung on the far wall with papers splattered all over it.

"May I help you?" the woman looked up at Corona.

"Um, yes. I'm Corona White, a new student here," Corona walked over and explained, "I think I'm supposed to get my room assignment?"

"New student?" the woman eyed Corona with her beady eyes. "This is the West building. One of our dorm rooms, but it also serves as our main office. I assume you are a senior dancer?"

"Yes," Corona answered hesitantly.

The woman leaned forward and typed something into the computer. "White, you said?"

"Yes,"

"I can search up your rooming assignment in the computer, hold on," the woman replied. Corona took the opportunity to look over the woman's outfit. Crisp white blouse, a stiff blazer, a pencil skirt and a nametag pinned to her blouse. MARILYN, the nametag read.

"Corona White, I assume?" the woman looked up from her computer screen, "You are in EAST 534, which is in the East building. East and West buildings are the dorm buildings, the North building is our main dance studio room and the South building holds the gym, the pool, the teacher's wing, the recreational hall and the dining hall. Here is a room key, just slide it into the slot like any other hotel room. Our new auditorium is situated between the North and the West buildings, you can see if from this window. Is there anything else?"

"No, thank you," Corona smiled graciously.

The woman clicked again and printed out a sheet of paper. "Here's your schedule and a map of our campus. Good bye." She easily dismissed Corona and turned back to her incessant typing. "Exit to the main courtyard is down that hall," she added.

Leaving the West Building, Corona dragged her suitcases across the grassy courtyard and towards a tall ornate building with the word EAST labeled over the entrance. She walked on a cobblestone path through the grassy area and saw benches sprinkled through the paths and a beautiful marble fountain of dolphins in the heart of the courtyard. Gardens with roses, daisies and violets grew in beautifully. It was like the academy had its very own mini park in the middle of a bustling city.

Entering the East Building, she took an elevator up to the fifth floor and scanned the labels for room 534.

"528, 530, 532," Corona's marine-blue eyes scanned the numbers on the doors as she looked for her new dorm room. Soon she paused in front of a blue door. The number 534 gleamed on the navy blue door in gold. She slid her gold room key in the slot and watched as the lights blinked green. The door swung open to reveal a standard dorm room, with three beds, a door leading to a small bathroom and closets for each girl. A girl with long golden-blonde hair perched on the armrest of a navy sofa filing her nails absently and brunette stood in the center of the room with her hands on her hips eying Corona with her scrutinizing gaze. Two of the beds were already made, with sheets, pillows and bedspreads made neatly. One had a royal purple bedspread that looked like the simple stuff you got from Target while the other had to be something similar to that 1000 thread Egyptian sheets.

"Um, hi!" Corona blurted out as she dumped her stuff on the floor and heard the door swing shut behind her.

"And you are….." the brunette stared down Corona with an intimidating gaze. Her glossy dark brown hair was silky, glossy and long, matching her dark eyes perfectly. Her chin was lifted slightly, her nose was perfect in every way, her lips were perfectly proportioned, her skin was a perfect light tan color and she stared at Corona with a steady look. It wasn't a glare, but it wasn't welcoming either. She wore a navy skirt that seemed straight from the cover of Vogue and black tights along with a white silk blouse that must have cost hundreds of dollars topped with an embellished black tank-esque vest over it. A pair of peep-toe black pumps completed her outfit, giving off the vibe of classic, polished and preppy – the stereotypical Upper East Sider. She wouldn't have looked out-of-place on a fashion show in Milan either.

"Corona, Corona White," Corona answered, resisting the urge to look down. She was used to hostility, a certain girl named Monique Chevalier had ruled Paris Academy of Ballet with an iron fist and Corona had long gotten used to put downs and insults. "From Paris Academy of Ballet," she added.

"You went to Paris Academy of Ballet?" a silvery voice chimed in. The blonde looked up from her filed-to-perfection nails and looked at Corona. She had long golden-blonde hair that fell in messy, rumpled waves down to her full chest and wide cerulean blue eyes framed by long lashes enhanced with mascara. Her lips curved into a small smile as she looked over at Corona. Her full pink lips were coated and gleaming with lipgloss and her nails were filed to perfection and painted Essie's Mademoiselle pink.

"Yeah, ever since I was six," Corona smiled. She was glad that her past was something that she was proud of; not every girl could get into that school and she was lucky that her mother had pulled strings to let Corona in when she was little.

"So what are you doing here?" the brunette arched an eyebrow.

"For ballet, and it's obviously the best school, right?" Corona asked back.

"Obviously," the brunette sneered.

"So….what's your name?" Corona asked. "Both of you,"

"Annie Giordano," the brunette answered and she crossed her arms over her chest. "From Manhattan Dance School." Something about the way Annie talked made Corona 100% sure that Annie had been the top in the city.

"Angel Carmichael, from the clubs of Vegas," the blonde answered with a smirk.

_Vegas? _

"You're a slut?" Annie Giordano asked snottily.

"Do I look like a f*cking slut?" Angel snapped.

Annie arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow. "Well…"

Corona frowned at Annie's tone but she had to admit that Angel's outfit might have been somewhat revealing. A pair of ripped, worn and frayed denim shorts barely covered Angel's butt and hung low on her hips, a yellow sheer tank hugged her torso and was nearly see-through – not to mention that it was cropped to reveal an inch of her flat, tanned stomach. A pair of yellow flipflops adorned her feet. Besides, even if it wasn't Annie's prim and proper style – Angel looked _good_ in it. Something Annie and Corona probably would never have managed. Angel pulled off the outfit with a casual carelessness.

"Look, Miss I'm-so-rich-and-perfect, let's make something clear here, ok?" Angel narrowed her cerulean blue eyes at Annie with a steely glare. "I'm not a f*cking slut, nor a f*cking whore, nor a f*cking stripper or whatever bullsh*t that you want to come up with, alright?"

"Never said you were," Annie countered still eying Angel with slight disdain.

Angel's eyes hardened to blue ice. "Don't f*cking mess with me, and I won't mess with you. Got that?"

Annie merely stared her down.

Corona bit her lip. Were _all_ ballerina girls this hostile? Sure they were beautiful. Annie was impossibly perfect and flawless while Angel could have modeled for any magazine in a bikini.

"Um, which beds are yours?" Corona asked in an attempt to break the silence.

The two girls broke away from their glaring match.

"This one's mine," Annie tossed a tan jacket onto the stack of sheets and mattresses.

"I'll take this one," Angel moved over and began strapped the sheet onto the mattress. Her golden-blonde hair gleamed like spun gold in the sunlight streaming in from the window and her tan skin glowed with the perfect sun-kissed effect that Corona desperately longed for. She shifted over to the full length mirror shoved in the corner of the room and eyed her own body critically. Her pitch black hair was little longer than her sister's – Alice's – but ended only a few inches past her shoulders. It was thick and healthy but nothing like Annie's silky, long and wavy Pantene-commercial hair. Her eyes were a pretty marine-blue color framed by her thick black eyelashes that never really needed mascara and her complexion – while not Angel-tanned or Annie-radiant – was a warm peachy color that seemed perfectly fine. Her body was slim and toned like any other ballerina that had been properly trained.

"Do you know when class starts?" Corona asked out into the room, hoping that either Annie or Angel would answer. If the two girls were going to fighting the entire time, Corona almost wished for a different room assignment – but first impressions weren't always everything, right? Annie probably had a bad day and Angel was probably not in a good mood.

"Tomorrow at seven sharp," Annie answered immediately.

"Breakfast at six thirty," Angel added. "You new?" this was directed at Corona.

"Yeah, it's obvious, huh?" Corona gestured around the room from her unopened suitcases to her unmade bed. She was pretty sure she could which bed belonged to which girl. The purple one with material that seemed straight from the aisles of Target most likely belonged to Angel while the creamy 1000 thread Egyptian cotton sheets could only belong to Annie. From Corona's first impression, it was simple. Annie was a stereotypical Upper East Side socialite, raised and born into a world of money, fame, popularity and bitches. Angel seemed way different, she was from Vegas and didn't have much money – from what Corona could tell –and cussed frequently.

"It's ok," Angel shrugged carelessly. "I only got here a few hours ago." She hauled a purple duffel out of the closet that she claimed as her own and pulled out a bottle of lemon Gatorade and took a sip.

"For some reason, I seriously doubt that's Gatorade," Annie said, raising an eyebrow.

"Lemon vodka, darlings," Angel smirked before taking another sip and screwing the bottle cap on. "If there was anything Raine taught me, it was how to drink anywhere and everywhere."

"You're an alcoholic," Annie wrinkled her nose in slight contempt.

"Don't pretend that you think that clubbing and drinking is glamorous," Angel rolled her eyes and walked over to the mirror and examined her reflection before striking a pose and strutting away like a supermodel on the runway.

"Oh please," Annie said with a sneer as she began searching through her numerous Louis Vuitton luggages.

"Don't we have an afternoon class?" said Corona awkwardly. The first official class hadn't even begun and her roommates were read to kill each other!

"No shit," snapped Angel. She tugged out a plain black leo and headed into the bathroom to change while Annie moved over to the dresser and began twisting up her long dark hair into a tight bun.

Corona unzipped her biggest suitcase and found her tights and leo along with a hair net and a couple bobby pins. Angel appeared in the doorway in standard pink tights and a basic black leo. Her golden blonde hair cascaded down her back in loose waves.

A few minutes later, the three girls were warming up in Ballet 23 right next to each other on the barre.

"Damn, this place is nice," remarked Angel sweeping the room with her eyes.

Corona silently agreed. While ballet studios all looked similar, this one was beautiful. The wooden floor was polish, smooth, gleaming and the perfect surface to spin on. Not too slippery, yet had enough friction for her. The barre was in pristine condition and the white lights in the studio weren't warm to cause unnecessary heat.

Annie showed no other emotion and looked around with boredom at the other girls while stretching out the arch of her feet.

"Good morning ladies," the door swung open and an elderly lady with her graying hair pinned up into a tight bun and her mouth pressed in a thin line marched in.

"First position," she barked out. The girls in the room instantly shifted into first position, straightened their back and raised their chin – all with perfect posture. It was almost too easy to becoming intimidated by this type of environment.

"You, what's your name?" the woman stopped in front of Angel and looked at her disdainfully.

"An angel," Angel with a laugh playing at her lips.

"Ms…..?" the woman stared down Angel. Corona had a bad feeling about this.

"Carmichael," Angel finally answered. "Angel Carmichael."

"Well, Ms. Carmichael," the woman said coldly. "Here at NYBA, we do not tolerate jokes. Total commitment and focus is required here. If you are here to have fun and play around, I suggest you go back to wherever you came from."

Angel stared back stunned.

"And your turnout is disgraceful," she added with a severe look at Angel before sweeping off.

Corona let out a tiny exhale when the woman bypassed her without a single glance.

Sneaking a peek over at Angel mid demi-plie, Corona noticed a faint tinge of pink on Angel's cheeks and anger flaming in her eyes.

"Now, let's get through these warm-ups girls!" snapped the woman. "My name is Madam Dupuis and I will be your ballet instructor for the duration of your stay at NYBA. First position, two demi-plies, one grande plie….."

Corona didn't dare to twitch a single muscle out of place as the girls went through the warm-ups. While this was basic, one wrong little flinch could drop you in the rankings faster than a 100 pound rock sinking in the sea. Chancing a small glance around the room, she evaluated the fellow dancers.

Angel brushed out her toe, shifting from first position to second and bent her knees gracefully while rolling her head to the left. She wasn't too bad, considered Corona. But Madam Dupuis was right, Angel's turnout and technique was slightly behind then most of the class.

* * *

"What a fucking stuck-up bitch!" exclaimed Angel as she stalked out of class later that day.

Corona nodded quietly. She really didn't know what to say. She scanned the crowd of ballerinas that filled the hallway as they moved off to various different classes. Spotting Annie talking with a few girls that looked like they ruled the school, she turned to Angel and said, "I think it's lunch."

A few minutes later, Corona was standing besides Angel as girl after girl picked up trays of lunches in the cafeteria.

"Don't they eat anything besides salad?" Angel wrinkled her nose. Lean meat chicken was the only thing that seemed closer to real food in the food selections.

"Ballerinas eat healthy," shrugged Corona.

"Yeah right, more like starve themselves," scoffed Angel. Her cerulean eyes lit up when she spotted a few chocolate bars that looked untouched besides the cash register. Snatching two of them, she dumped them on her tray.

"Well, we can't all eat like pigs," sneered a voice behind them.

Angel and Corona spun around to see a stunning redhead with two girls besides her. One of which was Annie, their Italian roommate.

"I mean, look at _her_," continued the redhead in a disgusted tone, pointing towards a blonde girl who was carrying a tray of creamy chicken alfredo towards a table.

"Mandy's got to have gained three pounds over the summer," sniffed the other girl that stood with the redhead and Annie.

"You know, you can stop being such judgemental freakos and just removed that stick up your ass," snapped Angel.

The redhead's green eyes flashed as she swung back towards Angel.

"Now look here, Miss-No-Technique," snarled the redhead. "I don't know who the hell you think you are but here at NYBA, _I'm_ the best, alright? You mess with me, I'll make sure that not a single dance company will want you after I'm through with you."

"Does it look like I care?" sneered back Angel.

"Oh I think you – "

"She's not worth it, Clarissa," cut in Annie smoothly. "Besides, Madam Dupuis glaring daggers at us."

"Yeah, Annie's right, let's go. We've got practice anyways," added the other girl who sniffed disdainfully at Angel. She linked her arm through Clarissa's and began pulling her away.

"Come on, Annie," Clarissa commanded.

Annie raised an eyebrow. "I'll be right there, you go first."

Turning back to Angel, Annie remarked casually, "You really don't want to antagonize Clarissa DeMontes."

"Well, I see you've become one of her minions," scoffed Angel. "Working your way up the ranks?"

Annie merely smiled. "I'm not interested in being a 'minion' to anyone. But it's always smart to have friends who can get me an instant in for any audition I want. Clarissa's mother is part of the instructors that have a say in who makes the NYB Company and who doesn't."

"Making friends won't make you a better dancer," said Corona.

"It won't, but it's always good to have opportunities," said Annie.

"I can't see you kissing up to the likes of Clarissa DeMontes and becoming part of her bitch brigade," Angel commented, flicking a piece of blonde hair off her shoulder.

"No, but it's always better to keep your competition close," said Annie with a sly smile. "You two have plenty to learn in surviving a world of backstabbing biatches."

"Oh yes," said Angel sarcastically, "You should write a manual, _How to Survive in Dance Academies for Dummies: A Guide to Avoiding Anorexism and a little disease called Bitchitis_".

"Funny," deadpanned Annie. "Hopefully, you won't get stomped all over," Annie directed her last comment to Corona before waltzing off in the direction Clarissa DeMontes had vanished in.

* * *

**This is a short chapter, hopefully you guys won't criticize the length but maybe the content is okay? Tell me what you think and especially if you think I should continue my stories!**

**Yes, I realized the catfights here are slightly exaggerated...but hey! It's fiction for a reason! (Oh dang, it rhymes) But Angel and Annie's personalities just clash that way! Annie's a major witch with a "b" and Angel's got that fiery, sarcastic personality! Corona seems pretty quiet, huh?**

**So if anyone is still interested in the things I write...drop me a review, please? I want to know if I should continue with writing - since school has gotten tough for me and my busy-ness factor has increased dramatically.**

**I don't have a beta, so all the mistakes are mine!**

**- The Lovely Psyche**


End file.
